by Rowan Luis
These walls and this bed
my henna and
gave birth to our glob of clay,
and I don't want it to be rejected
when the walls change and the henna grows out
and I discard this sprung mattress that's imbued with sweat,
you and me.
Author's Note: hmm. yuk.
Posted on 11/11/2007
Copyright © 2021 Rowan Luis
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Coleman Demiurge on 11/12/07 at 04:35 AM|
Moving indeed... As I've said before, you're excellent at saying much with few words and you prove as much with this piece. I think I'd refer to this as more of a vignette than I would a poem, or how about both even - that works for me. Any way it is and whatever it is, it is very well done. I especially liked this line: "gave birth to our glob of clay "
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/12/07 at 05:56 AM|
Nicely written, sharp visuals, man. This has a real punch to it.
|Posted by Genevieve Sturrock on 12/26/07 at 03:08 PM|
few words, loads of emotion. sharp and clear.
|Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 01/02/08 at 09:08 AM|
this feels very familiar... and it makes me wonder when was i rejected...?